Page 37 of Pretend
Oh, no.
This can’t be my life right now. I’m going to get stranded. It’s dark, with no street lights around. The windshield wipers go to a standstill. I pull to the side of the road, and I barely make it on the flooded grass.
I safely managed to park it before it stopped running.
I’m surrounded by tall trees and forests on both sides of the road. The storm is just getting stronger. The wind thrashes against my car, howling through the windows.
I sit there in silence as my car sways to the left and right from the strong winds. The rain hits the window and the hood of my car, and I’m just sitting there…with frustration, sadness, stress, and betrayal simmering in my veins.
Finally, I let my emotions wreak havoc on me. I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and let it all out.
I’m crying hard, gasping for air, as my whimpers join the natural sounds of rain. My mouth gapes wide open as I bawl the last bit of energy I have out. Shutting my eyes tight, I feel like everything is coming down on my shoulders hard.
A part of my support system feels obliterated, and the world becomes quiet and lonely. All the good memories of my relationship with Jack flash in my brain while my eyes are closed tight, and I let my panic attack run wild.
All of the good times of us falling asleep in each other’s arms, every holiday, our college graduation, and how he was there when my baby sister got in a car accident that left her with permanent damage to her arm.
How could Bailey do this to me? How could she hurt me like this? How could I be so stupid to trust people?
At this exact moment, I would call my best friend Bailey. Or Jack.
But that’s dead and gone, taken away by their selfish needs and cliche betrayal.
I refuse to worry anyone. I won’t do it. I don’t care how bad the situation is; I won’t have anyone get out of their beds at three in the morning for me.
I decide to call my mom. I hate asking her for anything, but I have no choice.
Screw it. I need someone.
My heart drops when I see my phone battery life.
Shit, I’m at one percent, and I don’t have a car charger on me.
Of course.
My mom doesn’t answer, unsurprisingly. She’s probably asleep.
I can call an Uber. But I don’t feel like going back and forth right now, waiting on an app.
Opening the car door, I take one last breath of air before I face the storm outside.
I’m immediately drenched by thick water drops. Fast and harsh winds hit me, making my hair slap around. They patter my skin roughly as I started my long walk to the gas station.
It’s five miles up the road. I’m going to get soaked, but at least I can get to another phone in case mine dies or to a charger.
As soon as I open my Uber app, shielding it with my hand, I get a text.
It’s a photo.
Of the person who’s stalking me.
There’s a picture of a gloved hand holding a piece of my hair on his palm over a sleeping body.
My sleeping body.
I’m on my side wearing my Jack Skellington pajamas.
Unknown: Where’s the birthday girl tonight?
